


Still Here

by TheCaitalloWrites



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Gen, Religious Conflict, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 14:30:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11419953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCaitalloWrites/pseuds/TheCaitalloWrites
Summary: Sam leaps into DeeDee Johnson and undergoes trauma that shakes his faith in both himself and God.





	1. Chapter One

Sam had leaped into a dimly lit motel room into what was presumably an intimate scene. He quickly registered the body pressing on top of him— the very evidently male body. Oh boy. He had to get out of this before it escalated any further.  
  
Knowing what to say to stop this other man’s advances would have been a hell of a lot easier if he had any idea who either of these people were and who they were to each other. Still, he ventured, “Uh, I don’t really want to do this...anymore. Uh, sorry.” He tried to gently push the man away and squirm his way out from under him.  
  
A strong hand pressed firmly against one of his shoulders stopped Sam. “What the fuck are you _talking_ about?”  
  
“I, uh, changed my mind,” Sam said with growing conviction, “I don’t want to do this.”  
  
“Do what? Fuck? Bitch, you don’t get to change your mind,” the man responded aggressively.  
  
“Why the hell not?” Sam was beginning to get a sense of what kind of man he was dealing with now. The way this man talked to someone Sam presumed was a woman made Sam’s blood boil. “I have a right to say ‘no’ if I decide I don’t want to have sex with you.”  
  
“Bitch, what the fuck are you talking about? You can’t say ‘no’, it’s your _job_ to say ‘yes’. Now, quit fuckin’ with me before you really make me mad.” His tone at the end suggested he intended to give Sam a rough time if he persisted in his arguments.  
  
“I said no, and I meant it!” Sam responded, moving more forcefully against the other man and throwing him off balance.  
  
The other man retaliated by backhanding Sam hard across the side of his face. “Have you lost your goddamn mind? I already paid you; it’s your job to do what I want.”  
  
The dingy motel room, the entitlement this man felt...Suddenly, Sam had a clearer picture of the situation he had found himself in. Struck by the sudden realization, he froze and accidentally voiced it aloud, “I’m a prostitute.”  
  
The man laughed, but it was clear he was still enraged. He grabbed Sam by the throat and threw him back down on the mattress. “No, you’re a fucking whore, and you’re not even a fucking good one apparently.”  
  
This man was really strong and really determined. As breathing became more difficult and as the other man fumbled to finish disrobing them both, Sam grew more desperate. “You don’t—you don’t want to...do this,” he choked out, “believe me you don’t.”  
  
“Shut up, bitch!” The man tightened his grip.  
  
“No.” Sam struggled against the other man, trying to use his body to throw him off again. “I’m not—” He gasped desperately for air; he tried to pry the man’s arm from his neck. “I’m not who you think… I am.”  
  
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” The man shot back aggressively.  
  
Sam’s vision was swimming, and he was worried he would lose consciousness soon if the man didn’t stop strangling him. He was so preoccupied by this that he almost didn’t notice that they were both totally naked now.  
  
“You got dick or something?” The man asked with a smirk.  
  
Seeing his opportunity to escape (and also tell the truth in the process albeit very frankly), Sam replied, as best as he could, “Yeah, I do.”  
  
The man released Sam’s throat, and Sam gasped desperately for air as an immediate reflex. The man moved down Sam’s body and examined him—or rather the aura of his host that was projected around Sam. Of course. Of _course_. The man couldn’t see Sam for who he really was. “Don’t look like it to me, baby. All I see is pussy, and not bad pussy for a whore, even if it belongs to a crazy bitch like you.”  
  
Still, this utterly disgusting moment granted Sam a window of opportunity. He brought a knee up to the guy’s face, bloodying his nose. Then, he quickly sat up and shoved him off the bed while he was distracted.  
  
“Argh.” The man held his face but quickly got up. “You’ll fucking _pay_ for that one, bitch!” He threw a punch but Sam avoided it. Then, Sam tried to punch him back but was thwarted with the other man unexpectedly grabbed his arm and twisted it causing Sam to cry out involuntarily.  
  
Taking advantage of this, the man slammed Sam back onto the bed. Sam tried to get right back up but the man pinned him before he had the chance. Then he struck Sam repeatedly across the face as Sam struggled beneath him, blocking and retaliating as best as he could manage.  
  
Realizing in horror that he might not manage to succeed in his physical struggle against this man, Sam attempted another approach. “Wait,” he said, panting, “I- I can give you your money back. We don’t have to—”  
  
“Oh, you’ll be givin’ me back my money, alright,” The man replied, “With interest.”  
  
“I—” The rest of Sam’s response was strangled as his opponent resumed choking him. Once again, Sam saw stars, and he was filled with a sinking, sickening dread that he might not be able to stop this man from doing whatever he wanted to do. He was beginning to fear he might not even make it out of this encounter alive.  
  
The man bit his lip as he began to rub himself against Sam to Sam’s growing horror. “Please—don’t,” Sam wheezed, “No. No, no, no, no.” He was beginning to panic; the room seemed dimmer all of a sudden. “Stop.” He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t seem to stop this ongoing nightmare, couldn’t do anything.  
  
Then, the man thrusted hard, pushing through the aura, causing both of them to flinch. Thankfully, he finally released Sam’s throat, leaving him coughing and gasping once again. It was a very small relief as the man still continued his assault in other regions, and Sam wasn’t exactly sure how it was working or what was happening down there, just that it hurt. He closed his eyes tight, trying to will this all to stop happening somehow.  
  
Apparently, it wasn’t too comfortable for his assailant either, if the pained sounding noises were any indication. Good, maybe that meant he would stop, and Sam could maybe still get out of this before it managed to get any worse.  
  
The man withdrew himself, and Sam dared to hope that this nightmare might end. His first indication that he was wrong was the man’s hand returning to grasp him by the neck. Then, he felt pressure lower down.  
  
No. No no no no. Sam began to struggle again. “No!” The man tightened his grip, and Sam went still as his airway closed. This man was going to murder him if he didn’t comply. Hell, he might do it anyway. Having made his point, the man stopped choking Sam and placed both hands on Sam’s hips, pushing down and pinning him hard against the mattress.  
  
Hysterically trying to both regulate his breathing once more and not to think about what was being done to him, Sam stared at the ceiling. Maybe if he just stared up at the ceiling and tried to breathe he could take himself somewhere else.  
  
Pain brought him back to reality sharply and kept him unfortunately rooted there, as the man thrust into him. If what he had done to Sam previously had hurt...this was undeniably worse. A scream escaped him, even though he hated to give his attacker (his... _rapist_. God, that’s what this was) the satisfaction. He would’ve dared to hope he might draw attention with the sound, but his damaged throat had done a lot to subdue the actual sound.  
  
“Ohh yeah,” the man said, thrusting harder and faster and making Sam cry out again, “I love it when you scream, baby.”  
  
Sam didn’t want to make any more noise, not for this sick creep, but like everything else in this hellish situation he had little to no control over it. He was far too lost in a sea of terror and pain to heavily police his reactions, no matter how much he wished he could. There were tears running down his face and mixing with his sweat, and he had no idea when that had begun.  
  
The one mercy granted to him by the universe in this waking nightmare was that it eventually, finally ended. The man finished and left Sam lying on the bed. He collected his belongings, got dressed, and began to rifle through a small purse on the floor. Sam watched him but neither said nor did anything else until the man finally left.

  


Sam registered the man leaving with the money, but he found himself without any energy or will to do anything about it. He hurt all over, but at the same time he felt numb. The dirty, dimly lit room had taken on an unreal quality, and it was almost as if this really had all been a terrible nightmare that Sam might hopefully wake from soon.  
  
But the pain he was in grounded him just enough to know this was real, and there was no escaping it. Right now, he wasn’t dreaming at all, but instead he seemed to be going into shock. He was cold (although that could have also been from his lack of clothes) and shaking like a leaf in the wind.  
  
He couldn’t stop thinking about what he could have done differently to avoid this fate, and he couldn’t stop replaying the events in his mind even though he wanted more than anything to stop. Stop thinking. Stop feeling. To just completely stop. It seemed like he never had that luxury, and he needed it now in this moment more than he ever had.  
  
He had never wanted to go home so bad in his entire life. Not to the Project headquarters in New Mexico. Home. To Elk Ridge, Indiana. He wanted more than anything to go back to a time and a place that no longer really existed, to his hometown as he knew it growing up, to the farm. He wanted to return to a simple existence devoid of all the hazards and traumas of his current one. He wanted to hide himself away in the countryside and forget he had ever even heard of time travel.

  


Not long after his attacker had left, Al entered the room through the Imaging Chamber door. “Sam! You okay, kid? Your vitals are going crazy! I woulda got here sooner, but we were having trouble getting a lock on you.” Al took a quick look around and added, less frantically, “if it wasn’t you we were talking about here, I’d say your vitals were going nuts because—”  
  
Sensing that train of thought was going somewhere Sam definitely didn’t want to hear right now, he stopped Al. “Don’t.” His voice was little more than a croak, and it hurt to use it. He tried to ignore the pain in other areas of his body as he sat up.  
  
Al’s demeanor changed immediately; he approached Sam more closely, and inspected him with greater care. “You okay, Sam? Geez, you look terrible.”  
  
Sam had no idea how to respond. He would live; he wasn’t in immediate danger or at immediate risk. He had survived the encounter and would continue to survive. But otherwise, no, he wasn’t okay. It would hurt to explain all of that, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to anyway. He simply shook his head.  
  
“What happened?” Al asked.  
  
Al definitely wouldn’t want to know that, and Sam didn’t want to tell him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his friend. He shook his head dumbly.  
  
“Sam?” His silence was clearly troubling Al.  
  
“I don’t—” The words caught in Sam’s throat and made him cough. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I don’t… wanna talk about it,” he finished slowly.  
  
“God, kid, your voice sounds awful,” Al remarked.  
  
Sam nodded. As a way of silent explanation, he brought one of his hands up to his neck and tried to mime being choked. Just re-enacting the attack in this way and with his own hands made him flinch and quickened his pulse; his chest felt tight, and it was almost like being strangled all over again.  
  
“Somebody choked ya?” When Sam nodded, Al continued, “Bastard. And you couldn’t stop him?”  
  
No, he couldn’t, and he had tried. Then he had agonized over every choice he had made in these vain attempts. Maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe if he had done this differently or done that differently…  
  
He was still trembling, and he was fairly certain he hadn’t stopped since he had started. The intensity of the shaking just seemed to wax and wane sporadically.  
  
“You’re, uh, not wearing any clothes,” Al said, clearly uncomfortable but also very clearly trying to be delicate, “Do you know where your clothes are, buddy?”  
  
Sam strangely hadn’t thought about that, and now he felt utterly exposed. He shifted his position slightly and tried to cover himself, biting his lip and trying not to cry out as the movement sent a new wave of pain coursing through him. In response to Al, he shook his head.  
  
“We don’t know who you leaped into yet,” Al said, as he walked about the room looking for clothing, “Although, I’m guessing you leaped into a woman.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Prostitute.” The word “whore” echoed back in his mind, and he felt phantom fingers around his throat. “I- I think.”  
  
“Mm.” Al nodded. “That might explain the room.” Gesturing to the floor in front of him he added, “There’s a mini-skirt over here, and some kinda skimpy top next to it.”  
  
He wouldn’t be much more than naked in those, and all he wanted to do was to cover as much of himself as possible right now. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of pants. He debated just wrapping the sheets of the bed around him; it wasn’t like he was at all clean anyway. What was there to fear from probably nasty bed-sheets?  
  
On the other hand… it had all happened on those very sheets. They reeked of his sweat and of the other man’s sweat. They smelled like sex. Sam felt sick.  
  
As carefully and quickly as he could, Sam got up and went to the small bathroom attached to the room. His legs were weak and wobbly, but he had to get away from that bed before he threw up on the carpet beside it. Instead he sank to the cool and probably unsanitary tile of the tiny bathroom and utilized the toilet. The bile burned his already damaged throat, and he continued to dry heave once he had nothing left to throw up.  
  
Al had followed him and watched him with concern, but he said nothing. Presumably, he didn’t know what to say. Still, Sam appreciated that he was there, even if part of him really didn’t want Al to see him this way.  
  
Finally, Sam got up and washed his hands and his face in the sink. The cool water on his skin just reminded him of how dirty he was. How he didn’t know how he’d feel clean again. He eyed the small shower stall. He weighed his need to try to clean up against how desperately exhausted he was.  
  
He looked into the mirror over the sink, taking in the appearance of the person he had leaped into for the first time. The face that stared back at him was that of a young black woman with short hair. She might’ve been pretty, but it was hard to tell with all the injuries Sam has sustained, marring her face just as they marred his. Sam suddenly found he didn’t want to look at her at all when he noticed the shiny, almost glassy look to her eyes and knew that his eyes held that same haunted expression.  
  
“I’ll, uh, go see if I can find out anything,” Al announced, breaking the silence that had formed while Sam tried to decide whether to shower or collapse.  
  
The word “go” sent a spike of panic through Sam. “No, wait!” he rasped, desperately.  
  
Al paused and looked back at him. He had a look that was both worried and expectant. “Yeah, Sam?”  
  
Sam felt small and pathetic; he dropped his gaze. “I- I, um, I don’t...want to be alone right now.” He wasn’t sure why that was exactly; he didn’t know what he was afraid of. “Please, Al— Please don’t leave.”  
  
“Okay, kid,” Al replied softly, “I won’t.”

  


True to his word, Al stayed in the Imaging Chamber while Sam took a shower, realizing only then that he had completely forgotten to tell Sam when and where he was this leap. He had a feeling Sam wouldn’t care too much about that now though. Whatever had happened to him before Al had gotten there had obviously left him pretty badly shaken up.  
  
Whatever it was it must’ve been really traumatic. Al had seen Sam deal with a whole lot of nasty situations before, but he’d never seen him like this. Even with the physical inability to talk much put aside, Sam was being quiet and withdrawn in a way that scared Al. It wasn’t really like Sam to close himself off that much.  
  
Al paced the floor, fiddling with the handlink to Ziggy and smoking a cigar for want of anything better to do. He could probably get more done if he left the Imaging Chamber, but he had promised his friend he wouldn’t leave him and he intended to keep that promise. Sam needed a friend right now, and even if Al didn’t know the full story behind why, he still understood.  
  
Al was beginning to wonder if he should check on Sam when Sam finally emerged from the shower. Sam was shivering slightly, but at least he had something to cover him now, even if it was just a towel. “Hey, Sam,” Al greeted him.  
  
Sam looked at him, but didn’t say anything. He looked lost. Al could see some really nasty bruises starting to form all over his friend’s face and neck and scattered about his body (what Al could currently see of it anyway.) Sam’s gaze drifted to the messy bed across the room and his expression turned more troubled.  
  
Al had sort of begun to piece together what might have happened, although he really hoped he was wrong. He tried not to speculate too much. For one thing, if he was completely honest, it made him uncomfortable thinking about it in any real detail. For another, he could be wrong, he was probably wrong, God he hoped he was wrong. And anyway, whatever had happened Sam would talk about it eventually, whenever he was ready.  
  
“I, uh, I didn’t tell you where and when you leaped to,” Al said, breaking the silence that had once again formed, “You’re in Atlanta, Georgia, although technically right now you’re just outside it, and it’s August 8, 1990.”  
  
That seemed to get Sam’s mind off whatever it was on when he stared at the bed. He seemed to be contemplating what Al had said, clearly working something out in his head or trying to at least. Finally, he gave Al a questioning look.  
  
Guessing that the date had registered as familiar in Sam’s swiss-cheesed memory, Al said, “It’s your birthday, Sam. August the 8th.” Hell of a birthday. “Happy birthday.”  
  
Sam almost smiled, but his face looked more pained than anything. “Thanks,” he rasped. Man, did his voice sound terrible! And judging by the way he cringed after he talked, it must’ve really hurt to use it.  
  
“You look beat, kid.” Yikes, that was a poor choice of words. “Why don’t you lay down and get some rest, huh?”  
  
Sam looked uneasy, but he complied. He took everything off the bed, leaving sheets, comforter, and pillows on the floor in a messy heap. Al supposed the bed clothes had done something to offend Sam, but he didn’t ask any questions.  
  
Sam lay flat on his back in the middle of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Al took a seat on the floor next to the bed, with his back not-really-against the wall and facing the bed. He’d seek more comfortable seating later, for now he wanted to stay close to Sam.  
  
It was silent once again, and it stayed that way for a while. Then, Al noticed Sam’s chest was rising and falling a lot quicker, like his breathing was really fast and shallow. Al stood up to get a better look at him. He was still staring up at the ceiling, but his eyes had a distant look to them like maybe he was seeing something else.  
  
“Sam?” Al said. When that failed to get Sam’s attention, he changed his tone. “Sam!” Sam screwed his eyes shut but didn’t respond. “Sam, snap out of it.”  
  
Sam panted a bit more slowly, like maybe he was trying to regulate his breathing. He swallowed and then whispered Al’s name so softly Al almost couldn’t hear it.  
  
“I’m right here, Sam,” Al said. Then, after a moment’s pause, he added, “It’s alright, Sam.” It probably wasn’t completely alright, but it seemed like the right thing to say for now. “Whatever it was that happened, it’s over now, okay?”  
  
Sam’s eyes were still closed. He nodded. He looked like he might be fighting tears but it was a little hard to tell. He took a deep, shaky breath. “Al,” he repeated, with just a bit more volume, more of a squeak than a whisper this time.  
  
Uncertain if Sam was planning to try saying anything more, Al prompted, “Yeah, buddy?”  
  
“Talk to me,” Sam requested meekly, “Please.”  
  
“About what?” Al asked, not quite understanding.  
  
“Anything,” Sam answered, “Just...talk.”  
  
“Alright,” Al said, “I can do that. Let me see…” He tried to think of a story to tell, maybe one that wasn’t too lewd, that didn’t seem like it’d sit well at the moment...although that did eliminate most of his best stories. Finally, electing one he thought would be tame enough, he began. “Oh yeah, did I ever tell you about the time…”  
  
After Al had told about a dozen stories (only one of which seemed to make Sam visibly uncomfortable), Sam finally drifted off to sleep. After a few minutes, when he was fairly confident Sam wouldn’t wake right back up and miss him and possibly panic, he stepped out of the Imaging Chamber to take care of a few things (primarily to grab a chair and let the others know he needed to stay with Sam for a while and that they might need to bring in Dr. Beeks on this one.) He returned as quickly as he could, and luckily, Sam was still asleep, although Al would hesitate to call it a sound sleep.  
  
He watched his friend sleep fitfully for quite some time, until he himself dozed off.


	2. Chapter Two

Sam Beckett had never been to Atlanta, Georgia. He had never even left Indiana, although he thought it would be neat to do sometime, probably when he was older.  
  
He was sitting on the front porch with his brother Tom, and they were playing with a deck of cards. Other than a forecast for storms later in the evening, it was a wholly uneventful and unremarkable day, but it was a good one.  
  
The wind picked up suddenly and blew their cards away. Tom laughed and ran after them, but for whatever reason Sam stayed put. The wind became more fierce; their mother told them to come inside. Sam still didn’t move; he couldn’t say why. He was transfixed, rooted to his spot.  
  
Soon the wind was the most intense wind he’d ever seen in his young life, and he watched in horror as it blew away his home. A bright blue light engulfed him, and he was sheltered from the storm. Only he soon found himself somewhere else; he watched as his surroundings rapidly changed.  
  
Dark sky turned to dim lamp-light. Cool Indiana spring turned to oppressively hot Georgia summer. And Sam turned from boy to man. The blue light no longer protected him.  
  
He was pinned against a mattress, and there was a hand around his throat. And then, the man attached to that hand was doing something utterly unspeakable to him. It all happened so fast, and no matter what he did he couldn’t stop it. Every inch of him was fear and pain and humiliation.

  


Sam jerked awake violently. He was covered in a cold sweat, and for a moment he was completely disoriented, looking to his immediate surroundings in confusion. He was in a motel room, the same room from his dream, the same room from the part of his dream that wasn’t just a dream. The very worst part and it had been real only hours ago. On the same bed he was presently lying in.  
  
He felt sick again, but this time he didn’t think he’d actually throw up. He wanted to get far away from that bed, from that whole room, but he knew that was just an irrational impulse. He didn’t even know where he’d go, and anyway it was probably still some ungodly hour of the morning in which he should probably be sleeping.  
  
Only he didn’t want to go back to sleep. He didn’t want to take a chance on having another dream like that. He didn’t want to wake up like this again. Even if he was tired enough physically speaking to sleep for far longer. His mind was racing now; it would never let him rest. He brought shaking hands to his bruised face.  
  
Seated next to him, Al stirred, and before he realized what the movement in his peripheral vision actually was, Sam jumped practically out of his skin. He sighed in relief. It was only Al. He brought a hand to his chest and felt his rapidly beating heart. He needed to get ahold of himself somehow.  
  
He watched Al sleep in a position that couldn’t have been comfortable or good for his back and felt a wave of affection for his best friend wash over him. Al had stayed with him all night. He didn’t have to do that and probably shouldn’t have, but Sam was more grateful than he could probably ever express that he had.

  


Al awoke some time later, groaning slightly as he shifted in his seat, “Hmm. Musta dozed off,” he muttered and rubbed a hand over his face.  
  
“Hey, Al,” Sam greeted, finding much to his dismay that his voice was still incredibly hoarse. He continued to pick up the clothes that were still scattered about the floor of the room. He dreaded putting them on, but he knew he would have to sooner or later.  
  
Al turned to face him. “Hey, kid, how long have you been up?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Not long.” It felt like he’d been awake for hours, but he didn’t think realistically it had been more than an hour or maybe an hour and a half.  
  
Looking him up and down briefly, Al asked, “How ya feeling?”  
  
Sam shifted uneasily and looked away from Al. Something about the question made him feel oddly anxious and ashamed. Maybe some part of him thought Al had figured out what happened to him and was judging him for it or that Al would judge him for the way he had acted after Al had shown up. He didn’t want his friend to look at him differently, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how to look at himself anymore.  
  
Still, he had to say something, so he opted for honestly, “Like hell.”  
  
“You sound like hell,” Al remarked.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam said dryly, “I look like it, too.” Or so he assumed, the woman’s face he saw in the mirror sure looked terrible.  
  
“You were, uh, a little out of it last night, so I don’t know how much you remember me tellin’ ya,” Al said, “But it’s August the 9th 1990, and you’re in Atlanta, Georgia.” He paused, fiddling with the handlink. “We still don’t know why you’re here, but you leaped into a woman named Diane Johnson. Oh, but everybody calls her DeeDee.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam replied, pulling the skimpy blouse he’d picked up from the floor over his head. He sighed in frustration. Why was it that Ziggy could give them this woman’s nickname but not why Sam had leaped into her? And why was Sam even surprised by this?  
  
As if he read Sam’s mind, Al responded, “Sorry, Sam. There’s, uh, a lot going on. Apparently there’s, uh, a lot of variables Ziggy’s trying to process.” He fiddled with the handlink some more as he spoke.  
  
What if he had already done something to screw this leap up? What if it was all his fault? What had happened to him last night… that had to have changed something, unless, of course, that was meant to happen to DeeDee...but what could Sam possibly be there to fix for her if not preventing _that_...  
  
“Sam?” Al sounded concerned.  
  
“Okay, so I’m DeeDee,” Sam said, ignoring him as well as the pain in his throat, “What else does Ziggy know? Anything?” He eyed the miniskirt in his hand, dreading swapping the towel he was still wearing for it.  
  
“Uh...let’s see…” Al poked at the handlink and smacked it a few times for good measure (ignoring the squeals of protest it emitted.) “24 years old...no employment, eh, not on the books anyway...no current address...there’s not much on her.”  
  
“Great.” Sam rifled through DeeDee’s purse. She had car keys so presumably a car. There was an address on her driver’s license; he showed it to Al.  
  
“I don’t think she lives wherever that is right now,” Al said, after running the address by Ziggy.

  


Finally dressed (if barely), Sam left the room. He didn’t feel as relieved to leave it as he had expected. What happened in that room was apparently leaving the room with him, which really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did.  
  
Once outside, they tracked down DeeDee’s vehicle, an old, beat-up car that had clearly seen better days. The back seat, and probably also the trunk, was filled with stuff, like clothes, trash, various beauty supplies and toiletries. By the looks of it, DeeDee very well might have lived out of her car, if not she certainly almost did. In all the mess, Sam found a bottle of water, which he drank as quickly as he could.  
  
Okay, so now what? Where was he supposed to go when he didn’t have the faintest idea why he was there and he knew barely anything about who he’d leaped into? He started the car, but he had no idea where he would actually drive it to.  
  
Outside the car, Al appeared to be talking to someone Sam couldn’t see or hear for a moment. Sam heard him sigh and say, “Alright. Alright already.” Probably something related to the Project. Right now, Sam would have given anything to have a mundane (relatively speaking) Project-related issue to solve, as long as it meant he was home and far away from the place and time in which he was currently stuck.  
  
“Sam, I gotta go,” Al told him. He didn’t sound happy about it, but Sam wasn’t sure if that was for his own reasons or because he was picking up on the obvious fact that Sam didn’t like the idea at all. “Hang in there, kid. We should have more for you to work with soon.” And with that, he exited through the Imaging Chamber door.  
  
It was irrational to want or expect Al to stay with him during this entire leap; Sam knew that. He also knew that he was profoundly uncomfortable being left alone with his own thoughts and without anything to do to both serve as a distraction or as a possible means to complete the leap. He put the car in drive and drove off. He’d figure out where he was going later; he just couldn’t sit there any longer.  
  
Remembering the address on the driver’s license, Sam wondered if maybe he could locate it and if that would accomplish anything. DeeDee had, at least at one time, lived there, and it had been recently enough that it was on her license. It was probably nothing, but it was all he had to go on right now, and it gave him something to focus on outside of his own head.  
  
The traffic was already somewhat heavy, despite it being early in the morning, and it only seemed to get worse the longer Sam drove. Arriving at last at a convenience store, he put the car in park. Surely somewhere in this mess DeeDee had money enough for a city map and possibly something cold to drink. As he rummaged through all of her stuff, he found a change of clothes (which thankfully included a pair of shorts), a half-full case of bottled water, scattered cosmetics, and various pieces of litter that needed to be thrown out. DeeDee obviously didn’t have passengers too often.  
  
Opening the glove box, he found expired registration papers for the vehicle as well as long-expired insurance cards; Sam hoped he didn’t get pulled over at any point. He also found a half-smoked pack of menthol cigarettes and a stash of condoms.  
  
He hoped that they had used one last night. He was suddenly stricken by the fact that he couldn’t remember that detail, and further disturbed by his doubts that they had. He felt dirty in a way a thousand motel showers couldn’t clean.  
  
If he got sick, would he be healed when he leaped out, or would it stay with him in his body wherever he went next?  
  
He shook his head. One worry at a time. Right now he needed to find money and get a map. He couldn’t think about anything else. He continued to search the glove box.  
  
DeeDee had five dollars to her name. Sam couldn’t help but wonder how much money she was supposed to make the previous night when he had leaped in. It was sort of hard to feel like he was helping her by being here at the moment. It seemed more like all he had done so far was make trouble for the both of them.  
  
He took the five dollar bill and the change of clothes and went inside. First things first, he went to the restroom in the back to change his clothes. Even if the shorts were on the incredibly short side, it still felt nice not to be wearing a skirt that was practically nonexistent. The tank top he now wore was more or less equally as revealing as the previous top, but he didn’t mind that as much, especially given the hot and humid conditions. He put the money in his pocket.  
  
As he was about to leave the restroom, Al appeared beside him and made him jump. He couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed at being startled though; he was too relieved to see his friend. Maybe now Al could tell him why he was here so he could hurry up and get to work and get the hell out of here.  
  
“Hey, Sam, how’re ya holding up?” Al greeted him.  
  
“Al.” He looked expectantly at the hologram.  
  
“I can’t stay long,” Al explained, “but, uh, I wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”  
  
“I’m still here,” Sam answered simply. And he was ready to figure out whatever it was he had to do so he wouldn’t be.  
  
“Yeah, we’re still working on that,” Al muttered. Then, he said, “Look, I, uh, I didn’t tell her too much, and I don’t know everything that happened anyway so it’s not like I even could, but, uh, I told Dr. Beeks about, ah, well, you know.”  
  
Al told Beeks. Wait, who was Beeks again? Someone at the Project presumably. Someone at the Project that Al would feel needed to know about what happened to Sam. A doctor.  
  
A woman, Sam remembered, Dr. Beeks was a woman. That wasn’t a related fact, but he was happy to remember something.  
  
Verbeena! That was her name, and she was a psychologist. Oh boy. Al was talking to the Project shrink on his behalf; he must’ve really freaked him out.  
  
And now, Sam realized, Beeks wanted Al to talk to Sam. “Look, Al—”  
  
“I mean, it’s not like I wanted to, but she knew about your vitals and how we couldn’t get a lock on you at the start of the leap, and then I was with you for a long time, and, well, she asked questions,” Al continued, clearly not comfortable with this position he had been put in.  
  
“Al—” Sam began, but then he stopped, interrupted by a sudden, indirectly related thought process. “Wait, maybe… maybe that has to do with why I’m here.”  
  
“What? Dr. Beeks?” Al clearly wasn’t following him.  
  
“No, not—” Sam paused, carefully considering his words so he wouldn’t have to use too many. “What happened. W-when I leaped in.”  
  
“Sam, I don’t think—”  
  
“What happened to me… I—maybe I was meant to protect DeeDee from that… or worse.”  
  
“Sam—”  
  
He had seen DeeDee’s reflection in the mirror. She was much smaller than he was, much more fine-featured. The man from last night could easily have killed her if he’d wanted to. He could probably have easily killed her just by treating her as he’d treated Sam.  
  
The memory quickened his pulse and made the walls of the dingy, poorly-lit restroom close in a little. It was hard to breathe again.  
  
“I don’t think she could’ve survived that,” Sam continued, trying to ignore the unpleasant sensations, “that guy was...Maybe that’s why I’m here.”  
  
“I don’t think so, Sam,” Al responded, “for one thing, you’re still here, and for another thing, DeeDee never got attacked like this in the original history, at least not according to any of our data.” He poked at the handlink as he spoke, but glanced up at Sam as he finished speaking.  
  
All of his worst suspicions were confirmed. “So, it is all my fault,” he said, barely above a whisper, “I made it happen.”  
  
“No, Sam,” Al replied, his voice a bit stern but not harsh, “You didn’t do anything wrong here. That slime attacked you. It’s not your fault what he did.”  
  
“I could’ve stopped him somehow,” Sam said, “I could have—” A short but painful coughing fit broke his speech.  
  
“What could you have done, Sam?” Al responded.  
  
The question seemed like it might have been rhetorical, but Sam still had an answer for it. Once he recovered, he replied, “I’ve run the entire scenario in my head about a hundred times...at least.” Whether he wanted to or not. He shuddered. “There are—” His voice cracked; he cleared his throat, ignoring the pain. “At least thirty things I could’ve done differently—” His voice tried to give out again, but he pressed on. “That might’ve led to a different outcome.”  
  
Al shook his head. “Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good.” After a pause, he added, “But you’re still wrong, ya know. So, it _might’ve_ gone differently. It might not have. Why beat yourself up over it? It’s not like you can go back and change what you did or didn’t do or what happened anyway.”  
  
“I’m a time traveller, and I can’t go back and change anything I did,” Sam said, struck hard by the irony.  
  
“Not in this case, I guess,” Al said quietly.  
  
They fell silent for a moment. Finally, Sam said, “If there was nothing I could do—” His voice cracked again, and he sighed in frustration. “I don’t understand…”  
  
Al studied him. “Understand what? Why it happened? Trust me, Sam, you don’t wanna go down that road; it doesn’t ever end anywhere good.”  
  
“But I’ve never leaped into a situation like that before,” Sam responded, “God or time or fate or whatever… has never put me into something like that… never into such immediate danger, at least not something like that where I had seemingly no control over it.”  
  
“Except for the time you almost got the electric chair,” Al commented, “And the time you got all messed up and stuck in that mental institution...And the time—”  
  
“Alright, so maybe I’ve been in similarly difficult situations before,” he said, stopping Al from continuing his list. Al had a point, and those memories were unpleasant to revisit, but this still felt different. Maybe this only felt different because it was more fresh; maybe over time it would be like those other times, either forgotten or only half-remembered, faded and distant. Sam could only hope. Sam sighed. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”  
  
“God/time/fate/whatever is a real bastard sometimes,” Al said.  
  
Normally, Sam might have admonished Al for saying such a thing, but presently he didn’t feel the drive to do so. Maybe some damaged part of him even agreed with Al, but he hoped that wasn’t true. Still, he argued, “But if this, any of _that_ , was… meant to happen—”  
  
“Nobody said it was ‘meant to happen’,” Al interjected.  
  
Sam continued, “If God or whatever put me here with no means to—to stop— _that_ from happening, then it seems like it was meant to be.” He paused, swallowing painfully. “I mean, it’s sort of like...with leaping… there are things that I can change for the better and things I can’t...the things I can’t do anything about were meant to happen…”  
  
“Sam—” Al began.  
  
Sam continued, “But if it was meant to be, then there has to be a reason… but I can’t figure out what that reason is.”  
  
“Sam, sometimes awful things just happen. There’s no reason for it. That’s just the way it is,” Al said, “You’ll just drive yourself crazy trying to figure out reasons why things happen or ways things coulda gone differently or any of that stuff.” After a brief pause, he added, “Believe me, I’ve been there on more than one occasion.”  
  
“Like in Vietnam?” Sam responded.  
  
“Yeah,” Al answered.  
  
Sam nodded; his brows furrowed. He didn’t necessarily believe that everything happened for a reason, but at times it was just hard to accept that sometimes terrible things happened to good people for seemingly no reason. The utter randomness of it all felt at odds with his scientific understanding of the world, and the cruelty of it felt at odds with his spiritual understanding. If there was a God (and Sam believed that there was) and if He was a loving God (as Sam had always been taught) then why would He allow or possibly even directly cause good people to suffer greatly? It was something Sam had never figured out a satisfactory answer to, so he usually tried not to think about it very much. Now he couldn’t avoid thinking about it though; now more than possibly ever before, he wished he had an answer.  
  
It was all too much for him to think about at the moment. Maybe Al was right; maybe things just happened and maybe he just shouldn’t think about it. “Why—” His voice was little more than a squeak.  
  
Al looked up from the handlink he had begun to fiddle with once more. “Why what?”  
  
Sam cleared his throat and tried again. “Why am I here?”  
  
“We’re still figuring that out,” Al said, smacking the side of the device in his hand and causing it to squeal, “We’ve got Ziggy running scenarios, but we still don’t have much to go on.”

  


Not wanting to spend all of DeeDee’s money, he’d settled on just getting the city map and drinking the water she had stored in the vehicle. The hot liquid soothed his throat slightly but offered no relief from the intense, humid heat of his surroundings. Looking at the map, he could see the street from the address on DeeDee’s license.  
  
The address was the only lead he had so he followed it. As he drove further into the city, the traffic got much worse. He fiddled with the radio dial impatiently but didn’t really pay attention to anything that issued from the speakers. He wondered if he’d be better off ditching the car and walking.  
  
Deciding against leaving DeeDee’s home parked somewhere random, he drove on, making slow but steady progress to the address on DeeDee’s license. He had no idea what to expect when he got to the place; he had no idea why DeeDee had it on her license as her place of residence when all signs pointed to her not having any place of residence. How long had it been since she’d _had_ one? Maybe this was going to be an entirely fruitless venture.  
  
As he neared the street that DeeDee had once lived on, he noticed the city progressively getting more and more run down. Several of the buildings he passed looked old and poorly maintained, some even looked abandoned. There was a walk-in urgent care, and later down the road a hospital. The housing spoke of low-income residents.  
  
He considered the walk-in clinic, remembering his earlier concerns. What had happened to him only hours ago came with health risks, and he knew getting checked out would be the wise thing to do. But everyone would see him as DeeDee and treat him accordingly and given that he _wasn’t_ DeeDee, or even a woman at all, that might be a problem. Furthermore, he didn’t have nearly enough money with him, and he doubted DeeDee had any insurance to speak of.  
  
Still, the very real possibility that he might get sick hung over him like a dark cloud. It wasn’t enough that he’d been assaulted; he had to worry about the potential side-effects of it. A horrible night he didn’t even want to think about ever again could potentially impact the rest of his life.  
  
Or maybe if he was incredibly fortunate, whatever malady—if any, would disappear from his body when he leaped out. He couldn’t confidently remember how that worked exactly, but he knew he’d been hurt on countless leaps only to go on to the next one completely fine and ready to be hurt all over again. Maybe he had nothing to worry about. The lack of absolute certainty was what got to him.  
  
Turning down the appropriate street, he slowed down, looking for the specific address he sought. It was a shabby-looking duplex, and there didn’t appear to be anyone home in either residence. Something, maybe residual from DeeDee, told him which door to go to and where to find the spare key to get in. That same something sent a signal through his nerves to get the hell out of there.  
  
He braced himself for the trouble that might never come, and he retrieved the hidden key. He let himself in moments later and cautiously stepped inside. He looked around; the place was a complete and utter mess. When he went to turn on a light, he discovered the lights were off. Someone didn’t—or couldn’t—pay the bill, he supposed.  
  
He didn’t even know where to begin to look for information in this place. A quick sweep of the house told him nothing except that whoever lived there was likely very poor and definitely not a good housekeeper. He began to go through the stack of mail on the counter of the kitchen, but he found nothing he thought might be relevant. He rummaged through the junk on the floor and on the old, broken futon. Still nothing. This had been a waste of time after all.


	3. Chapter Three

The sound of someone racking the slide of a pistol startled Sam. In the dim behind him, he heard a woman say, “What the fuck you doin’ here, DeeDee?”  
  
Sam turned around slowly putting his hands up. “I, uh—”  
  
“You got about five seconds to get your ass up out of here.”  
  
Wherever this was, DeeDee was _not_ welcome here. Sam wondered if this had any connection to the leap at all and if there was any way to figure that out that didn’t involve getting shot. “Okay, okay,” he said, “Just put the gun down—”  
  
“I’m not gonna tell you again, bitch! Get out my fuckin’ house!” The look in her dark eyes told Sam she was very serious. “And if I find out you stole anything you better hope I don’t find yo ass.”  
  
He kept his hands up and retreated, never taking his eyes off the tall, dark-skinned woman who still held him at gunpoint. “Alright. I’m gone.”  
  
At the rate he was going, he was beginning to _seriously_ doubt that he would manage to make it out of this leap alive. He got in the car and sped away from the scene of what could easily have been his death. Whoever that young woman was, there was clearly some bad blood between her and DeeDee. She’d said something about stealing. Had DeeDee stolen from her before? Was that why DeeDee didn’t live there anymore? He wondered it there was any way he could find out.  
  
He pulled into the parking lot of the walk-in clinic, and he put the car in park. He didn’t plan on going inside, but he needed some place relatively safe to stop and think. Adrenaline still coursed through him, and it helped to dull the pain he still felt in certain areas of his body. That was a small blessing, certainly not one worth nearly getting shot for, but still.  
  
So, the address on DeeDee’s license definitely wasn’t her home anymore. It seemed very apparent that she was no longer welcome there. Sam had no idea if that was her own fault or if her clearly unhinged acquaintance was to blame, but either way the place was dangerous. Knowing his luck, that probably meant he’d have to return there.  
  
If only Al would come back and tell him why he was there. Until then, he still had to assume it was related to that house and its occupant who had almost killed him. He definitely couldn’t go back there right now, not safely at least.  
  
He could try to watch the house at a safe distance though. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was as good a plan as he had. He put the car in drive and headed back towards the residence.  
  
He parked on the street in front of another house several houses away, and he watched. There were still no vehicles out front, so Sam had to assume the woman who had nearly shot him had either been dropped off or had walked.  
  
For all he knew, this was a waste of time, some nagging part of his brain supplied. If Al would just come back and give him some more information, he’d know for sure…  
  
Or maybe he just really hated being alone right now. With no one to talk to (even if he couldn’t actually do much of the talking himself) he was stuck with his thoughts, unable to escape the confines of his own mind. And that wasn’t a good place to be at the moment.  
  
He tried to keep his mind focused on the present, on doing whatever he needed to do to complete this leap and get out, but his mind wandered back to the darkened motel room where he’d leaped in. It was trying to process what had happened to him, even as he actively tried to avoid doing so. He had been through something traumatic, and if he lived a normal life he would have had actual time to recognize it and work through it, but instead he was sitting alone in an old car on some side street of Atlanta, Georgia in the year 1990, fighting a losing battle against his own mind.  
  
Because he did not have a normal life; if he did, none of this would have happened in the first place. Of course, that could work to his advantage in that once he leaped out of this time and place, he could forget, if not entirely, at least mostly, all that had happened to him on this leap. Then, it was onto whatever the next horrible thing was that would happen to him, some dark part of him added.  
  
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring in the direction of the duplex when Al returned, but it probably wasn’t half as long as it had felt. “Hey, Sam,” he greeted him. Then, he looked at him with some scrutiny and asked, “What are you doing just sitting here?”  
  
“Al! What took you so long?” Sam returned, both excited to see Al and impatient for answers.  
  
“I had some stuff at the Project I had to take care of,” Al responded, “We figured out what you’re here for: You gotta stop something bad from happening to DeeDee—”  
  
“I’m a little late for that,” Sam interjected.  
  
“Something _worse_ ,” Al amended, “DeeDee goes missing in two days, Sam. Nobody knows what happened to her, at least not on any official records, but she was reported as a missing person on August 11th, 1990, and no one’s seen her since.”  
  
So, now he knew, at least vaguely, what he was there to do. He had to keep DeeDee safe… which was something he’d done a pretty poor job of doing so far as her stand-in. Thinking of the woman who had held him at gunpoint, he asked, “Was there an investigation?”  
  
“What, y’mean for foul play?” When Sam nodded, Al continued, “If there was, they didn’t turn up anything. There weren’t any suspects on any of the records.”  
  
That couldn’t be right. DeeDee couldn’t just disappear with no explanation. Didn’t anyone care about this woman? Sam’s brows furrowed. “DeeDee has enemies,” he commented. Someone had to have done something to her.  
  
“What makes you say that?” Al asked.  
  
Sam cleared his sore throat and pointed at the duplex he’d been watching “I went in there and almost got shot.”  
  
“Geez, kid, you can’t stay out of trouble on this one, can you?” The words were said with sympathy but something in them still stung. Sam shook his head, both as a response and as an attempt to banish dark, irrational thoughts. “Do you know why you almost got shot?” Sam shook his head again.  
  
They watched the residence together for a while until finally the woman emerged. Her movements suggested some form of intoxication, and it soon became apparent that she still held her gun. She swept the area with the pistol’s short barrel. Recognizing DeeDee’s vehicle, she stopped and pointed her weapon at it.  
  
“Shit, Sam! She sees you! Get outta here!” Al shouted.  
  
She fired the weapon just as Sam put the car in drive, missing her target and hitting the mailbox of the house Sam had been parked in front of. “DeeDee Johnson! You betta get the fuck outta here! I betta not catch you here again!” she screamed after them as Sam floored it. She fired another shot, and Sam heard it ping against the back of the car.

  


“I think she shot out one of your tail lights,” Al observed, once they had put some safe distance between the car and the woman hellbent on murdering Sam.  
  
“Yeah, that’s the least of my problems,” Sam muttered. Although he couldn’t help but think of it as one more thing DeeDee would have to deal with when she came back, _if_ she came back, if Sam didn’t get himself killed and leave her stranded in the future. Right now the odds didn’t seem to be in either of their favors.  
  
As Sam turned down another side street, Al asked him, “Where are we going anyway?”  
  
“I don’t know!” Sam snapped. Probably to another place where he’d be hurt or almost killed, he wanted to say. He sighed. Taking his frustration out on Al wasn’t helpful or right. “I don’t know,” he repeated quietly. He paused. “Sorry, Al.”  
  
“It’s alright, kid,” Al responded.  
  
Silence formed between them as Sam drove on, becoming increasingly lost in a maze of unfamiliar streets. Finally, he pulled over and consulted the city map; once he figured out where he was then he needed to figure out where he was going to go. He wondered where DeeDee usually parked her car/home.  
  
Putting the map away, he put the car back in drive and headed downtown. Something told him that was the direction he needed to head, and he hoped that was a good sign.

  


Between getting lost, trying to get un-lost, and getting stuck in more traffic, he had managed to spend basically the rest of the day driving. Tired and worried about further wasting gas, he took advantage of a business with a parking lot and parked the car. He turned off the engine and slumped in his seat.  
  
Although part of him questioned the wisdom in stopping and doing nothing, he found himself at a loss for anything else to do. At the moment, he barely felt capable of doing anything else. He stared at the dashboard with unseeing eyes, the events of this leap so far all threatening to catch up with him mentally and physically. He remembered now why he didn’t want to stop earlier.  
  
His latest surge of adrenaline had worn off, and now he was tired and sore all over again. He was exhausted enough to sleep, but he wasn’t sure his mind would let him, which was probably for the best given DeeDee’s (or rather _his_ ) impending doom still hanging over his head. Heading downtown had, unfortunately, not decreased the odds of DeeDee’s disappearance. Neither had anything else he’d done. Neither was just sitting here. Something bad was going to happen, and there didn’t seem to be a damn thing Sam could do to stop it, even though stopping it was supposed to be the entire reason he was there! Then again, he’d been put in that room at the start of the leap and hadn’t been able to stop something bad from happening then; maybe this wouldn’t be any different. Maybe he’d already failed, or maybe they were wrong about why he was there. All Sam knew at this point was that he felt hopeless in a way he never had before, and he hated it.  
  
He watched the sun sink lower in the sky, almost beyond the horizon now. His eyes watered, whether from looking at the bright light of the setting sun or from his frustration he wasn’t sure. He had almost forgotten Al was there until the hologram spoke again, “You okay, Sam?”  
  
“Tired,” Sam replied simply, “Just… tired.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth either.  
  
Al looked around. “Why don’t you try to catch some sleep? I’ll keep watch.”  
  
“Can’t,” Sam argued, “Gotta stay alert. Gotta—”  
  
Al’s tone changed. “You’re already _not_ alert, Sam. It’s not like you’re really doing anything just sitting here anyway. Get some rest before you run yourself into the ground.” It was no longer a suggestion.  
  
“Al—” he started to protest.  
  
“Sam,” Al cut him off, tone still firm. After a brief pause, he added a bit more softly, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, but he still argued, “You’re just a hologram.”  
  
“Hey! This hologram has managed to get your butt outta more bad situations than you can count, pal! Besides, I can look out for trouble, and I can wake you up if I need to. What else do I need to do?”  
  
He had a point, or rather several points, and Sam was too tired to win this particular battle of wills.

  


It was mostly quiet in the Imaging Chamber, the only sounds coming from the hustle and bustle of the city that wasn’t really there outside of the car that Al wasn’t really in. It reminded him that even though he appeared to be right beside his best friend they were really many years and miles apart. There were times when that fact really weighed on Al.  
  
He glanced at Sam. Despite all of his arguing, he had gone to sleep within minutes. He was obviously worn out. Al figured he hadn’t gotten much sleep his first night in Atlanta, and the sleep he had gotten probably wasn’t very restful.  
  
Al wondered if DeeDee always had such a rough way to go, or if Sam was having particularly terrible luck with this leap. No reason both things couldn’t be true, he concluded. Didn’t change the fact that this woman clearly had a shitty life. Didn’t change the fact that this leap was fucking terrible. Didn’t change the fact that he was worried about his friend, who was obviously messed up from what had happened to him but had to act like he wasn’t so he could do what he was put there by God/Time/Fate/Whatever to do.  
  
Beeks had wanted Al to talk to Sam about it, said he might need to, but Al was no shrink. He wouldn’t know the first thing to say, wouldn’t even know how to start that whole conversation. And anyway, if Sam wanted to focus on completing the leap and getting the hell out, Al figured they oughtta let him. It made sense anyway; the sooner Sam leaped out of here, the sooner this whole mess was over and hopefully Sam would forget it all and never remember it.  
  
That’s certainly how Al would want to deal with it if he were Sam. Hell, if what Al suspected had gone down in that motel went down, Al would never want to ever talk about it with anyone. But this was Sam, and it wasn’t like Sam to bottle stuff up the way he seemed to be doing with this. Beeks would probably have a lot to say about that. All Al knew was that it worried him.  
  
Al took a drag of his cigar and surveyed the area again. It had probably been about an hour, and nothing had happened. Sam and DeeDee’s odds weren't looking any better, however.  
  
Suddenly, a vehicle pulled up beside them, an old Cadillac that, unlike DeeDee’s old car, had clearly had some money thrown at it. The guy that got out of it looked like trouble. “Sam! Wake up! I think we’ve got company!”

  


“Sam! Wake up!” Al shouted. Sam woke with a start and looked around in a panicked haze. “There’s a guy outside, and I don’t like the looks of ‘im,” Al explained.  
  
Almost as soon as he had spoken the words, the man in question approached the car, and Sam immediately agreed with Al’s assessment. Sam moved to start the car in case he needed to drive away quickly, but before he could, the door was wrenched open violently. “Hey, hey, hey, take it easy. I don’t want any trouble,” Sam said, hoping to diffuse the situation.  
  
“Yeah, well, you in it,” the man replied venomously as he grabbed Sam and tried to drag him out of the car.  
  
“Hey! Get your paws offa him!” Al protested uselessly.  
  
Sam pushed the man away and backed away from him. He wasn’t looking to turn this into a fight if he didn’t have to.  
  
“Where the fuck have you been?” the man asked, and it was clear he wasn’t asking from any sort of place of concern for DeeDee. He continued to advance aggressively towards Sam.  
  
“I, uh…” Sam was usually fairly decent at thinking on his feet, but presently he found himself with no idea how to respond. He took a step back and hesitantly supplied. “I’ve been, y’know, around.”  
  
“‘Around’? ‘Around’, huh?” The man lunged at Sam suddenly and grabbed him by the shirt. “Bitch, you think you’re fuckin’ funny? Quit fuckin’ around before you get your ass beat!” He paused and, taking in Sam’s/DeeDee’s appearance, added with a smirk, “Again.” He released Sam when he finished speaking.  
  
Sam needed to think fast if he was to de-escalate this situation, which was going to he hard because practically every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run away. He looked frantically at Al, hoping his friend had any helpful information or tips.  
  
“DeeDee, um, works for this slimeball,” Al supplied, “His name’s Darius Cobb.”  
  
Well, now he knew who he was dealing with, but that didn’t help as much as he would have hoped. “Sorry, I wasn’t, uh— I didn’t mean,” he stammered uselessly, trying to stall until he could think of something better to say or do.  
  
“What happened to my money, bitch?” Darius asked aggressively.  
  
“I don’t know I—”  
  
He backhanded Sam hard across his already injured face, and Sam couldn’t stop himself from crying out in pain, even though he hated to give the guy the satisfaction. “Where’s my fuckin’ money?!” the man continued.  
  
“He stole it,” Sam answered, “The-the guy from last night, he beat me up and took it.” He had left out some major details of his account, but he didn’t think that would at all matter. Even telling as much as he had felt somewhat degrading and had him remembering certain details he’d prefer to forget, especially at the moment.  
  
In lieu of a proper response, Darius made an incoherent angry noise and struck Sam again. Unprepared for the attack, Sam nearly lost his balance. His attacker landed another blow.  
  
“Hey! Leave him alone, you bastard!” Al shouted angrily, as if the “bastard” in question would actually hear him. “C’mon, Sam! Get ‘im!”  
  
Not again. Not again. Not again. Not. _Again_. After Darius landed another punch, he tried to grab Sam and throw him down, but fear and panic had turned into anger, anger unlike any Sam could ever recall feeling before. Adrenaline had taken the pain of his previous injuries away once again, and he was ready to fight. If this guy thought he was gonna beat a woman into submission tonight, he had another thing coming.  
  
Sam countered, pushing the man back as he tried to grab Sam. Moving quickly, Sam landed a kick to the man’s face that sent him reeling. He thought he heard Al cheering him on, but his focus was so intensely centered on his adversary that his friend’s presence barely registered. Striking again, Sam landed a punch. And another. And another.  
  
The strange, primal rage clouded his mind. It seemed he had to lose control of himself to take control of the situation, which wasn’t something Sam would even consciously note until later. Soon the man was down on the ground, and Sam was on top of him, striking him again and again and again. Distantly, he thought Al might have been calling his name.

  


If the withdrawn, quiet, and shaky Sam of before had scared Al, _this_ … this was a whole other level of fucking terrifying. God knows that bastard deserved every punch Sam landed on him, but Sam Beckett didn’t half-kill a guy like this no matter how bad he deserved it. Hell, if Sam didn’t stop, he might do more than half-kill the guy, and then he’d have to live with that, and Al didn’t think brutally killing a man with his bare hands was something Sam could live with.  
  
“Sam!! Sam, stop!!” Al screamed. “You’re gonna kill him!! Saaaaam!!” If only he could actually touch Sam, that might snap him out of whatever this was. Al kept shouting desperately at him and repeating his name. God, even when this kid had completely lost his head he was stubborn!  
  
Finally, Sam stopped and seemed to regain his senses. He took several deep, ragged breaths, and he started shaking all over. He stared down at the now unrecognizable (but thankfully still alive) man beneath him, then at his bloody hands. He scrambled backwards off the other man’s body, flinching slightly as he hit the concrete too hard. “Oh God, Al,” he said, “What have I done?” He began to inspect the man he’d nearly beaten to death. “Oh God.”  
  
“It’s okay, Sam,” Al said, although the okay-ness of this whole damn situation was debatable. He moved in closer to Sam and Darius. “You stopped. You didn’t kill him. He’s still alive. See?”  
  
“He’ll live,” Sam agreed, nodding. His eyes had a distant look to them. “I could’ve killed him.”  
  
“But you didn’t,” Al added. Eyeing Darius again, Al asked, “Can we leave him here like this? Do we need to call somebody?”  
  
Sam looked over the unconscious man on the ground once again. “I think… we’d better.” He stood up with some difficulty and looked for a nearby payphone. “Just to be safe.” He began walking, presumably in search of a phone. Al watched him closely. Something about him still seemed very wrong.  
  
Once he’d found a payphone, Sam dialed 911 and told the operator in a rush about Darius’s injuries and location. The woman on the other end of the line tried to ask him more questions and keep him on the phone, but he hung up and left.  
  
“We need to get outta here,” Al urged him.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said and suddenly moved with surprising speed to get back to DeeDee’s car. “Get outta here,” he repeated quietly.  
  
Watching him with concern, Al asked, “You okay, kid? Ya know, relatively speaking?” He had a real nasty sinking feeling that he knew the answer to the question, and that he wouldn’t like it, no matter what Sam actually told him.  
  
Sam said nothing though; he just started the car and took off. Pretty soon he was driving fast, dangerously fast. He weaved through the nighttime traffic.  
  
“Saam, slow down! We’re trying to keep DeeDee out of trouble, remember? Not get her arrested for reckless endangerment or _worse_ …” Al feared his words were falling on deaf ears as Sam continued on as though Al hadn’t spoken. He slammed on the brakes hard and narrowly avoided smashing into a stopped car in front of them. “Geez, Sam! You’re gonna get yourself killed! Cut that out, damn it!”  
  
Sam’s breathing was ragged again, and his grip on the steering wheel was so tight it turned his bruised and blood-covered knuckles almost white. Jesus, this kid was coming unglued. There was nothing Al could do for him.  
  
Well, there was one thing. “Sam, I’m getting Dr. Beeks, okay? I’ll be right back. Just don’t get yourself killed in the meantime, alright?”  
  
If Sam heard him at all, he made no acknowledgment.

  


Sam didn’t stop driving until the city was behind him. He had to get away. He had to.  
  
God, he’d almost killed a man. He’d almost been killed himself. Everything in this leap was all wrong, all out of control, no matter what he did it always seemed to make things worse. It was like suddenly all he could do was mess everything up, and it had felt like that from the moment he had leaped in.  
  
Everything. All of it. It was all his fault. How was he supposed to save DeeDee Johnson when he couldn’t even manage to save himself?  
  
Tears clouded his vision, and he was glad he had finally pulled off the road. Maybe that was one right thing he had done, even if he had almost wrecked too many other times while driving away.  
  
Al was gone. He realized it suddenly, taking in the relative silence. When had Al left? _Why_ had Al left? He vaguely remembered Al saying something to him after yelling at him to slow down (which Sam couldn’t for some reason, he couldn’t slow down even though he knew he should, not until he was far away.)  
  
In the quiet without Al, there was no distraction from his thoughts, from his memories. No one to talk him down and ground him.  
  
He must have scared Al away. Either that or he’d made Al mad at him. He’d be mad at him and possibly scared of him too if he were Al. With the way he’d messed things up on this leap, the way he was very clearly falling apart and couldn’t get himself together.  
  
He didn’t mean for any of this to happen. This whole leap was an awkward situation turned waking nightmare that had spiraled utterly out of control; he never wanted any trouble. Damn it! He never wanted any of this. He never meant for anyone to get hurt.  
  
He never meant for anyone to get hurt. He just leaped in and out of their lives and changed their personal timelines without their consent or input. What gave him the right to do that? God? Who the hell did he think he was? What made him so important that God would choose him to do His work? Or was it all truly just random? He stepped into the Quantum Leap accelerator against all rationality, and now, not just him, but all these random people had to deal with the fallout of that reckless decision.  
  
He never meant for anyone to get hurt, but people still got hurt sometimes, and sometimes it was entirely his fault. He wondered if he hurt people or messed up their lives somehow more than he noticed, maybe more than he could remember. He was always so caught up in doing good and righting wrongs that he seldom took the time to consider the damage he might do. He was so caught up in changing things for the better, his noble, self-righteous, utterly idealistic vision of why he was stuck leaping around in time and space seemingly forever, that he never really paid attention to the things he might have changed for the worst. Wouldn’t he be equally capable of changing history for the worse as he was for the better?  
  
Had this happened to him because of something he’d done? Someone he had hurt somehow? Did he somehow deserve this? That didn’t seem right. Sam tried to be a good person after all, tried to do what he was supposed to do to help whoever he was supposed to help, tried to do everything right. He never meant for anyone to get hurt.  
  
Still, he had almost murdered a man tonight. There was still literal blood on his hands.

  


…Darius deserved to get hurt though, didn’t he? Certainly not beaten beyond recognition, but still, Sam hadn’t exactly been harming an innocent there. Still his blood on Sam’s hands haunted Sam, and it made it harder for Sam to reason with himself that he was, in fact, a good person who didn’t deserve all the hell this leap was throwing at him.  
  
Right or wrong, Sam hoped that his actions would have a positive effect of some sort. Maybe Darius would think twice about abusing women after getting his ass handed to him (and then some) by someone he thought was small, unassuming DeeDee Johnson. For now, Sam could only hope.  
  
But then, there was the other man, the man from the motel. He got away, and for all Sam knew he’d get away with it all, the theft, the… assault, all of it. He could very well do to another woman what he had done to who he thought was DeeDee Johnson. Where the hell was the justice in that? Where the hell was he in all of this? Why couldn’t it have been him bleeding on the sidewalk now?  
  
Then again, Sam had failed to stop him before. So, who was to say that wouldn’t just happen again? If it had been him, he might have overpowered Sam again, maybe Sam would be the one who had been nearly killed. (...Again.)  
  
_Not again_. The feeling of fingers around his throat, of the weight pressed against him down, of excruciatingly painful and humiliating violation, all of it was remembered too vividly; it almost felt like it was happening all over again.  
  
He couldn’t stop it. Any of it. He couldn’t get away. There was nothing he could do. He had failed utterly. It was all his fault.  
  
Oh God…


	4. Chapter Four

Sensing the presence of someone else, Sam turned suddenly and found Al and Dr. Verbena Beeks in the backseat.  
  
“Hey, Sam,” Al said, “I got Dr. Beeks. Figured you guys should talk, you know? I think we’ve made it so you can see and hear her as long as I’m touching her.” He gestured with his hand that held hers, and then he looked to Dr. Beeks expectantly.  
  
She nodded at Al and then looked at Sam. “Hello, Dr. Beckett,” she greeted calmly.  
  
His mind was still racing and his heart was still pounding and all of this made it difficult to focus. She would want to talk about everything that happened, and even though deep down Sam knew he needed to that didn’t mean he wanted to or that he was even sure he could. After too many seconds of silence, Sam realized he hadn’t responded to Al or Dr. Beeks. “Hey,” he supplied weakly.  
  
“Admiral Calavicci tells me you almost killed a man with your bare hands, but I assume he’s exaggerating,” Dr. Beeks said with a mild but not callous tone.  
  
No, no he was not. Sam swallowed and shook his head. “He isn’t.” As his adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was coming back to him, he had the sore, stinging knuckles to remind him of what he had done. He looked at his hands and tried to suppress the hazy memory of feeling Darius’s nose break.  
  
Despite an obvious effort to control her expression, Dr. Beeks’s eyes widened slightly, and another wave of guilt and shame hit Sam. Now along with Al and he himself, Dr. Beeks would never look at him the same way again.  
  
“God, I wish he was,” Sam added.  
  
“Why do you think you did that, Sam?” Dr. Beeks asked, her expression calm once again.  
  
“I—I don’t know. I just—” He had snapped. He had no real explanation. “Something just came over me.” He paused. “I just lost my head.”  
  
“Well, he was getting attacked,” Al added, “I did mention that part, didn’t I?”  
  
Dr. Beeks nodded. “Yes, you did.” To Sam, she said, “And it was when you were being attacked by that man, that you, as you put it ‘lost your head’?” Sam nodded, and she continued, “Do you remember what was going through your mind at the time?”  
  
He was scared. He was in no condition to fight this man. He’d already been beaten and choked and raped, held at gunpoint and shot at, and here was someone else threatening to assault him again. He couldn’t go through anything else like that again; he wouldn’t. Not again.  
  
“Sam?” Al sounded worried. It brought Sam back to the present.  
  
He must have gone quiet for too long. He looked down at the floorboard. “I was…afraid,” he explained, “I didn’t want—after what had already happened—” He struggled with the words. “I didn’t want to be beaten again. I didn’t wanna lose control of the situation, and that’s what was happening all over again...And-and I was angry. I was so angry. The way that man treats women...the way all these men treat DeeDee…I had to do something…”  
  
“So, you tried to take control of the situation, for yourself and for DeeDee?” Dr. Beeks responded.  
  
“I couldn’t,” Sam confessed, “but yeah, I tried. And I guess I was able to stop Darius, but I couldn’t stop myself...not when I needed to at least. If it hadn’t been for Al…I don’t know what I would have...” He closed his eyes tightly. This leap had taken him to uncharted territory. He couldn’t blame either Al or Verbena if they never looked at him the same again.  
  
Dr. Beeks let him have a moment, and then she changed the subject slightly. “You mentioned something that had happened before,” she began, and Sam noticed Al tense up beside her. He wasn’t sure if it was because Al didn’t want to hear about it or because Al knew Sam didn’t want to talk about it or if it was some combination of the two. Thankfully, she didn’t ask about it directly, not yet anyway. “Do you think that event caused you to experience this loss of control? To behave and to feel as you did during your encounter with Darius?”  
  
Sam swallowed nervously. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer. Of course, what had happened to him when he leaped had effected everything that had happened to him and everything he had done since. Still, he didn’t like to think of it as something that governed his behaviors or thoughts; that was giving it too much power for his comfort, conceding to further loss of control at a time when he felt he had less control over things than ever.  
  
Still… it wasn’t as if he would have reacted at all the same way if the trauma from his leap in hadn’t occurred; he couldn’t ignore that objective fact, even if it made him uncomfortable. His brows knitted tightly as he considered it. “I, uh, yeah, I guess it did. I mean, obviously it did.” His eyes burned, and he dashed at them quickly with a hand.  
  
“Admiral Calavicci told me that something happened to you when you leaped in, and that you might need to talk to me about it,” Dr. Beeks stated.  
  
Sam wasn’t sure whether he hoped Al had told Verbena the whole story (or at least what Al knew of it) or whether he hoped that he hadn’t. Looking quickly from Al to Dr. Beeks, he asked anxiously, “How much did Al tell you?”  
  
“That was all he told me,” Dr. Beeks answered.  
  
“Yeah, Sam,” Al added, “Promise.”  
  
The car felt a bit like it was closing in on itself as Sam considered discussing what had happened. He stared down at the floorboards and took a deep breath. He _could_ do this. He had to.  
  
“You don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with,” Dr. Beeks added, clearly sensing his tension.  
  
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Sam said, finally, “But, I think maybe I need to.”  
  
“Okay,” Dr. Beeks said. She watched him and awaited his eventual response, but said nothing more.  
  
He could talk about this without flashing back or losing it. He could. He had to. He tried to detach himself from the events he was trying to put into words. He tried to imagine himself outside of himself, out of his body and completely removed. Like this had all, in fact, happened to DeeDee.  
  
“There was a motel room. The lights were down,” he began, “There was a man.” His heart rate picked up, and he could feel his whole body tense up painfully. “DeeDee was with him, and he, uh…” It felt like there was less oxygen in the car all of a sudden. He tried to continue his explanation, backtracking slightly, “DeeDee’s a prostitute, and…”  
  
This wasn’t working; he could feel the panic coming on and he could see and feel the things he was trying to describe in the 3rd person. This hadn’t happened to DeeDee, and he couldn’t pretend that it had. It had happened to him.  
  
“I leapt in, and they were, uh, in the room together… I didn’t want to- to, uh, do what they’d come there to do.” He was starting to shake, and a tremble had worked its way into his already weak voice. He could get through this. He had to. “I tried talking, he wouldn’t listen. I tried fighting, but I-I lost… He kept choking me.” He felt like he was choking now. The air was gone from the vehicle. Just like before, it was hot and dark and he couldn’t breathe.  
  
“Sam?” Al asked after a moment of tense silence, “You alright?”  
  
That brought Sam back to the present. He was there in the car with Al and Verbena; he was safe. But unfortunately he hadn’t finished with his story. He looked up and stared ahead out the front windshield and into the night outside. It was darker now with most of the city lights behind them. That gave Sam some odd sense of comfort. Maybe it was because everything he’d gone through on this leap was literally behind him now.  
  
In response to Al’s question, he nodded. In truth, he wasn’t sure “alright” was how he would describe himself at the moment, but hopefully he’d get there. His heart was still racing, and he was still trembling, but he would get through this.  
  
Avoiding the words didn’t make them any less true, nor did it make the truth any easier to deal with, so at last he finished his account, “I was raped.”  
  
He had said it. He had actually managed to say the words out loud. Even if he felt like he was right on the edge, he was able to take some small pride in the fact that he hadn’t gone all the way over it.  
  
Still, saying it made it feel more real and more definite. And now, Verbena and Al both knew, which was a good thing, but also a bit humiliating all the same. He couldn’t really put into words why it was, perhaps just because it was so personal or because it had done such a number on him both physically and mentally and he was still trying to pick up the pieces and put them back together. It left him feeling exposed in a way he wasn’t entirely used to and did not like. He cast his gaze back downward.  
  
In the silence that followed, he dared a glance at the back seat. Verbena studied him with clear sympathy. Al looked uncomfortable but not unsympathetic. Sam realized they were waiting on him to speak again.  
  
“That… didn’t happen to DeeDee in the original history,” Sam added, “I— it happened to me… I caused it somehow.”  
  
“It isn’t your fault,” Dr. Beeks said firmly.  
  
“That’s what I told him,” Al added.  
  
“I… I know that… or part of me does, at least,” Sam responded, “But I could’ve done something different to prevent it or… I don’t know. It just— _feels_ like I should have been able to do something.”  
  
“What could you have done?” Dr. Beeks asked.  
  
“I ran the whole scenario over in my head. There were several things I could’ve done differently that might’ve led to a different outcome,” Sam explained.  
  
“Did it help you to do that?” Dr. Beeks asked.  
  
“I—uh, no, honestly,” Sam answered, “Actually it made me feel worse.” He considered that for a moment. “I can’t change what I did or what happened.”  
  
“That’s right,” Dr. Beeks affirmed.  
  
“But I guess… I just want to understand why it happened,” Sam confessed, “I know it doesn’t change anything but…”  
  
“It’s perfectly normal to question why something happens, especially something traumatic,” Dr. Beeks commented, “Even if, rationally, you acknowledge that it won’t change what happened.”  
  
“Right,” Sam said. He wished he could stop thinking about it, but the question had nagged at him repeatedly throughout this leap. “I just don’t wanna think this was meant to happen...that I was put here in this time and place to go through that,” Sam continued.  
  
“You weren’t,” Dr. Beeks responded, “You were put here to help this woman.”  
  
“But how can I help DeeDee when I can’t even help myself? It seems like all I’ve done since I got here is make things worse for the both of us.”

  


Suddenly, the handlink shrieked. Dr. Beeks and Sam both looked to Al, who began to fiddle with the device. “Uh, Sam, now might not be the best time to tell you this, but ya changed history again, and _not_ for the better.”  
  
Great. What had he done now? He threw his head back in exasperation. “What’s Ziggy saying now?”  
  
“Well, now instead of going missing the day after tomorrow, DeeDee gets murdered tomorrow!” Al responded.  
  
“Because of what I did…” Sam said quietly.  
  
“Sam, we don’t know that,” Al reprimanded him.  
  
“You can’t blame yourself, Dr. Beckett,” Dr. Beeks said, “A lot has happened that was beyond your control on this leap.”  
  
Sam nodded. He didn’t have time to worry over what had caused the change anyway. He just had to try to fix it somehow. Keep DeeDee alive. Keep himself alive. He couldn’t do anything about what had already happened; he could, however, try to prevent things from getting any worse. He had to.  
  
“Dr. Beckett?” Dr. Beeks asked.  
  
“You’re right,” Sam said, “And anyway, it doesn’t matter now. What matters is staying alive and fixing it somehow.”  
  
“Atta boy, Sam,” Al said.  
  
Dr. Beeks nodded. “That’s right. Focus on what you _can_ control, and keep moving forward.” Before she could say anything further she vanished.  
  
“Dr. Beeks?” Sam questioned.  
  
“We need her here!” Al shouted to someone at the project.  
  
Beeks had really done all she could for the time being, and they didn’t have time to sit and talk anymore anyway. They certainly didn’t have time for Al to argue with whoever he was arguing with now.  
  
They needed a plan. Presumably, DeeDee/Sam’s murderer would be either Darius or someone connected to him. Maybe driving out of the city had been an even better idea than Sam had thought.  
  
Maybe they could just stay gone. That might work… But then, Sam remembered the original history and wondered if DeeDee had disappeared in her own attempt to stay gone. Maybe she had been as lost as he found himself feeling now.  
  
Still… he found the city was still too close behind him, given what he knew now. He started the car once again.  
  
“Well, I’m sure as hell not going anywhere!” Al shouted, startling him out of his contemplation.  
  
He hoped no one made Al leave him now. He thought he saw his friend flicker in and out of sight quickly, but maybe he was just being paranoid. He desperately hoped so. Focusing his attention on moving forward had helped give him more strength and stability, but he feared it would all fly out the window if he was forced to face the road ahead alone. This had been the most difficult leap he’d ever done before and every second of it that he’d had to spend on his own had been miserable. At this point, he seriously doubted his ability to do this without Al.  
  
Al disappeared, and panic surged through him. “Al!” A few seconds passed in tense silence. Sam took a deep breath and put the car in drive.  
  
“He’ll come back,” he told himself, “Just keep driving.” He drove on into the night, fighting off mounting anxiety. “He was probably just using too much power or something. He’ll come back later. Just keep driving.” He urged himself on silently.  
  
Keep driving. He’ll come back later. Keep driving. Stay alive. Focus on what you can control. Keep moving forward.

  


The sky was beginning to lighten, and Sam was beginning to weave dangerously in and out of his lane, when Al returned at last. “Sorry about that, Sam. There was an issue with the power supply, and I tried to tell ‘em I couldn’t leave you, but, well, I guess you know who won that one.”  
  
Sam was suddenly much more awake. “Al, it’s so good to see you.”  
  
“Yeah, you, too,” Al replied, “How long’ve you been driving?” He began to mess with the handlink.  
  
“All night,” Sam answered, “Since you left.”  
  
“I didn’t leave! Those nozzles—” Al began defensively.  
  
“It’s okay, Al. I know.”  
  
“So… where are we going?” Al asked.  
  
“Away,” Sam answered.  
  
“Good thinking, Sam. Ziggy says no one was ever charged with DeeDee’s murder. That slimeball Darius must have had someone do it.” He paused and continued working with the handlink. “Your odds of being murdered are going down the further away from Atlanta you get. Looks like you’ll be able to drive away from this whole leap.”  
  
It couldn’t be that simple, Sam realized. Something didn’t feel right. “What are the odds of DeeDee disappearing?”  
  
“What? Why do you wanna know that? You already changed it; she doesn’t disappear anymore,” Al said.  
  
“It can’t be as simple as just driving away, Al,” Sam explained. He cleared his throat. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. That there’s something else I should be doing. Something I should’ve done from the start of this leap.”  
  
“Alright, Sam,” Al said. To Ziggy, he said, “Ziggy, what are the odds of DeeDee disappearing?” He frowned at the handlink. “Ziggy says the odds of DeeDee disappearing are now back up to 55 percent, but the odds of her being murdered are down to 45 percent.”  
  
“Have Ziggy run the odds of both if I returned to Atlanta,” Sam said, putting together a theory.  
  
“If you go back to Atlanta…” The handlink squealed, and Al smacked it. “The odds of being murdered go all the way back up to 90 and the odds of disappearing are 10 percent.”  
  
“And if I keep driving in my current direction…?” Sam requested.  
  
“Ziggy says there’s not enough data,” Al answered. Arguing with Ziggy, he questioned, “Whattaya mean there’s not enough data?” He smacked the handlink again for good measure.  
  
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Sam said, “but I think the murder odds and disappearance odds are inversely related somehow...and it’s related directly to the distance driven North or South of Atlanta.”  
  
“So, what does that mean?” Al asked.  
  
“It means I’m not just gonna be able to drive away from this leap.”


	5. Chapter Five

Sure enough, many miles down the road later when they checked with Ziggy, the murder odds had dropped significantly, but the odds of DeeDee’s disappearance raised significantly.  
  
Sleep had begun to pull heavily at Sam once again. For most of this leap, he’d been running on adrenaline and little else, and now after hours of sleepless driving, he was really feeling the effects.  
  
He needed to stop. The car was starting to run low on gas, and he was weaving again. And he knew that continuing to drive away from Atlanta wasn’t the key to solving this leap.  
  
But it felt good to put so many miles between himself and that city, and focusing on moving forward had helped him keep his head on straight.  
  
Then, it hit him. This, what he was doing right now, driving away, wasn’t just about DeeDee or completing the leap. He wasn’t just driving away from the leap. He should have known that when he’d kept driving despite knowing it wasn’t actually solving anything.  
  
Keep driving. Stay alive. Focus on what you can control. Keep moving forward.  
  
The words he had repeated in his mind over and over earlier came back to him. This hadn’t been about keeping DeeDee safe; it wasn’t her life he was running for.  
  
He was afraid to stop. Driving on into the night and then the morning had given him a purpose; moving forward had given him strength. It had all given him a sense of stability and control that he so often lacked, especially on this leap.  
  
Beeks would have a field day with him right now. He shook his head. He couldn’t just keep going, and he couldn’t stop. What was he to do?  
  
His thoughts were replaced very briefly with darkness and quiet, and it was peaceful. Until a car horn sounded, and Al shouted at him, and he jerked suddenly awake, not fully realizing he’d even been asleep. He swerved back into his lane.  
  
“Sam, pull over,” Al ordered, “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”  
  
“I can’t, Al,” Sam said, “Whatever happens to DeeDee happens either today or tomorrow, and I can’t stop.”  
  
“You said it yourself. You said you can’t just drive away from this one,” Al responded.  
  
“Yeah, well—” Sam began to argue. Then, he paused, deflating quickly when he realized he had no actual argument. He cleared his throat and sighed. “You’re right.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re right I’m right,” Al muttered.  
  
Sam continued, “I guess I just don’t know what else to do—I can’t just do nothing, y’know? And I— it felt good to get away from that city. T-to move forward and just… keep driving.”  
  
The sun was getting brighter now, and it hurt Sam’s tired eyes. He squinted as a ray of light hit him directly. Talking was keeping him awake, even if talking too much still hurt his throat.  
  
“Well, Ziggy says you don’t get murdered anymore,” Al told him, changing the subject slightly, “but we’re back at square one. Something’s still gonna happen to DeeDee; she’s still gonna disappear.”  
  
Back at square one. So despite all the miles of road and lack of sleep and despite all that he had been through before even driving away, Sam was still no closer to completing this leap than when he’d started it.  
  
“Sam?” Al sounded concerned. “C’mon, talk to me.”  
  
He didn’t want to stop driving, but he had to pull over. He couldn’t breathe all of a sudden. He couldn’t tell if it showed outwardly, but inside he felt like he was shaking like crazy. He pulled over and put the car in park.  
  
He tried to focus on breathing, but it felt like a weight was crushing him. He put his head down, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. He heard Al say his name again.  
  
He wanted to respond, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t find the air. He felt paralyzed. He shut his eyes tightly, but that proved to be a mistake as his broken, sleep-deprived brain tortured him further, flashing images, memories, to fill in the lack of visual stimuli. It took him back to the hot, humid, dim place he’d started this leap.  
  
He couldn’t breathe because there was a hand wrapped tightly around his throat, making him see dark spots. He couldn’t move because there was a body on top of him holding him down.  
  
“Sam!” Al was there. “C’mon, buddy, snap out of it!”  
  
He remembered the sound of his own strained scream, but now Al was there talking to him, talking him through this. But Al hadn’t been there before obviously. He focused on breathing and the sound of Al’s voice, leading him back to reality and tethering him to the present. The weight began to lift away from him.  
  
He remembered before when the sound of his best friend’s voice had kept his traumatic memories at bay. He had been tired then, too, but not this tired. His own voice returned to him. “Al… thanks. Thanks for being here for me.”  
  
“Anytime, kid.” Al sounded relieved to get a response from Sam, but Sam could still feel his friend watching him. Finally, he asked, “You okay, Sam?”  
  
“I don’t know,” he replied, honestly, “But I’m still here. I’m still alive. That’s something.” He opened his eyes and sat up once more.  
  
“Yeah, it is,” Al agreed.  
  
Then, for some reason that probably made sense to his brain in its current state, he remembered something else. He decided to share it with Al, lest the car fall back into potentially dangerous silence. “That night when—uh, when I first leaped in… after… I had a dream that I was back home, back in Elk Ridge. And I was a little boy again.”  
  
“Good dream?” Al was attentive, but clearly confused as to where this was going.  
  
“Yeah, mostly,” Sam continued, “But then a storm came and blew it all away.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“And then I—I was myself again, my current age, and I was back—” He fought the dread and panic back as he continued, “Back in that room… and, uh, and it was happening all over again, what happened to me before when I leaped in.” He could talk about this without falling to pieces; he was determined to.  
  
“Oh.” Al clearly didn’t want to discuss it, although to his credit he seemed willing to.  
  
“I got so caught up in the last part, the part that had really happened, that I forgot the dream part,” Sam said, “I’m not even sure why I’m remembering it now.”  
  
“Well, you just had a moment there,” Al said, “I’m guessing it was a flashback.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam replied, “How did you know?”  
  
“I know a thing or two about those,” Al responded. Of course, he would. Then, he continued, “Your mind’s probably just looking for a distraction ‘cause it’s either that or you stay stuck thinking about what you don’t wanna be thinking about.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Maybe.” He thought of something else, but he hesitated a bit before sharing it. “I remember after—” He could talk about this; he _would_. “After I was assaulted, when I was alone, I kept thinking about home, about Elk Ridge, and I wanted so bad to just go back. Go back and forget all of this.”  
  
Then, he had an epiphany. “Al, where is DeeDee from?”  
  
Al seemed slightly thrown by the abrupt change in subject and tone. “Hm? DeeDee? Oh, uh…” He began to work with the handlink. “Wait, why do you wanna know where DeeDee’s from? What’s that got to do with anything?”  
  
“I’ve got an idea,” Sam answered.  
  
“Says here she’s from Copperhill, Tennessee, and her mother still lives there.”  
  
Sam put the car in drive and got back on the road. “Copperhill, Tennessee,” he repeated. “Alright, now how do we get there?”

  


Sam stopped at a truck stop to refuel the car, stretch his legs, and look at a map. Ideally, he’d have purchased one, but he didn’t have enough money. Ideally, he also wouldn’t have had to resort to stealing at all, but refilling the car without paying was a necessity no matter how much he hated to do it.  
  
He went inside the store to look at the map first. He was thankful for his photographic memory for the first and only time during this particular leap. From where he estimated himself to be now, he needed to start heading east or northeast to get to Copperhill, Tennessee. He still had a lot of road ahead of him to get there, but he was determined to make it. DeeDee needed to go back home; for the first time during this leap, he was finally sure of something.  
  
In his own time, he remembered a bit randomly, it wasn’t so easy to steal gas. Most pumps didn’t activate without some form of payment. In 1990, however, Sam found the pump fully operational without any payment needed. It was an honor system that he was about to abuse. For the greater good, of course, but he still did not enjoy doing it.  
  
Having filled the tank, he quickly got back in the car, started it, and drove away as fast as he could without drawing unnecessary attention to himself or causing an accident. Now, on to Copperhill.

  


Al had to keep Sam talking so he’d stay awake, if he was ever going to make it. He started by telling Sam about where he was headed. “Ziggy says this Copperhill town is tiny. Less than a thousand people live there, even in our time. There’s a sort of conjoining town in Georgia right on the border called McCaysville. Says they had a real bad flood in February of this year, the year you’re in.”  
  
“But DeeDee’s mom still lives there?”  
  
“Yeah, she’s still there, Sam,” Al replied.  
  
“I bet she misses her daughter,” Sam said.  
  
“Maybe she does.” They didn’t know this woman or her relationship with her daughter, but Sam clearly felt strongly about this, so Al didn’t argue. To his credit, DeeDee’s odds seemed to be getting better with each mile closer to Copperhill. He relayed this data to Sam. “It looks like the odds of DeeDee disappearing are going down.”  
  
“That’s great, Al,” Sam responded, and he actually smiled for the first time that Al could recall on this fucking mess of a leap. Al was really glad to see that. It gave him hope for his friend. Sam was gonna be alright. He shouldn’t’ve ever doubted that; nothing could keep that kid down for long.  
  
Sam’s expression grew serious again, and he seemed to be thinking about something. “I wonder why DeeDee left home in the first place,” he said at last, “I’m here to save her life, but I don’t know really anything about it, or about her.”  
  
“I dunno, Sam,” Al responded, doing a brief check for information via the handlink, “We don’t have any data on that. We don’t have much data on DeeDee at all, and, well, we haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk with her directly what with… well…” Al didn’t want to get into the reasons why he and Beeks had been preoccupied on this leap, for several reasons; not the least of which was he didn’t want Sam to feel guilty about it, it’s not like it was his fault everything went down the way it did. He paused, then, to shift the subject back to their original one, he added, “Probably just wanted to see more of the world. Same reason anybody leaves a small town.”  
  
Sam considered this, and undoubtedly he thought of his own experiences growing up in a small town and ultimately leaving it. “Yeah, I guess you’re probably right.” He sounded sad, but Al couldn’t tell why, and then, he got quiet. Finally, he added, “It’s just a shame DeeDee had to see so much misfortune and abuse.”  
  
“Yeah, it is,” Al said, but he wasn’t really thinking about DeeDee when he said it. He thought instead about all the things he had seen Sam go through, and yet here he was, still going, still giving a damn, still helping people and being so damned irrepressibly good.  
  
With any luck, his swiss-cheesed brain would erase this fucking leap from his conscious mind. It would be the very _least_ that God/Time/Fate/Whatever could do for him, for putting him into this mess in the first place and for not even letting him go home.  
  
The car’s cabin fell into silence again, with each of them lost in their thoughts. Then, Al noticed the car swerve slightly and saw Sam jerk upright out of the corner of his eye. “Hang in there, kid. We’re not there yet.” He couldn’t let the car go quiet like that again, so he thought for a second, and then launched into telling the first story that came into his mind; it wasn’t relevant to anything, but Sam didn’t seem to care.  
  
If he ignored the surrounding circumstances (such as the fact that he wasn’t actually in the car, at least not really), there was something almost normal about riding in the passenger seat of a car, telling stories while his best friend drove. It was almost like a road trip. Al almost laughed at the thought. Yeah. Right. If he and Sam really took a road trip, _he’d_ be driving. Instead, he was a passenger who wasn’t even really there.  
  
But he was keeping Sam awake and keeping his sleep-deprived mind from going to dark, dangerous places. He told him stories, kept conversation going between them, and generally did whatever he could to keep both silence and sleep at bay. And it was nice to be able to spend time with his friend, even if it had to be in this way and under these circumstances. And even if it made him miss Sam in a way much worse than he normally did.

 

Loose gravel crunched under the tires of the old car as Sam pulled into the nearly washed out driveway. The slowly setting sun cast an orange glow on everything. The house was small, and in slight disrepair, but it looked like home, and Sam could feel it calling to the small part of DeeDee that had stayed with him during the leap.  
  
“This should be the place,” Al said.  
  
Sam nodded and got out of the car. He paused for a moment between the car and the front door, realizing that he was bringing DeeDee back to her mother in terrible condition. She would see the skimpy clothes and all the bruises, and she would no doubt have questions and concerns.  
  
But most importantly, she’d have her daughter back, safe from harm.  
  
The door opened just before Sam could knock. A dark-skinned old woman greeted him with a look of utter astonishment. “DeeDee?” Excitement quickly overtook her features, and her brown eyes filled with tears. “DeeDee!” She wrapped her thin, bony arms around Sam. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, baby! I been so worried!”  
  
Sam hugged her back. “I know. I know. I’m here now.”  
  
Sam could feel the sensation of an impending leap out, but instead of satisfaction or relief, it brought him fear. He froze in place, and, for what he assumed was the first time, he resisted the feeling.  
  
If he leaped out, that could mean leaping into another living nightmare, another life threatening situation, another series of torment he had no hope of escaping until his next leap which could be just as bad or even worse. Something he hadn’t considered earlier when he wanted nothing more than to be done with this leap. Now he found himself to afraid to!  
  
This was irrational, and he knew it. Leaping had always been dangerous business. He couldn’t let that stop him now; he had no alternative!  
  
The old woman released him and turned to go back inside. “C’mon, baby, get inside before we let in all them bugs.”  
  
Sam nodded and followed her into the house. Strangely, the leaping out sensation had left him; he had no idea what to make of that. He looked around the small home, unsure of his place in it.  
  
“Sit down! Sit down!” The old woman insisted.  
  
He found the nearest chair and obeyed. He wasn’t meant to be sitting here in DeeDee’s place, and yet he couldn’t leave. He needed to, but he wasn’t ready.  
  
“Now tell me what’s happened to you, child,” The old woman said.  
  
“It’s, uh, a long story,” Sam responded uneasily. He suddenly noticed Al was not there. Al had probably thought the leap was over, too.  
  
“I got time,” The woman replied, “I may be old, but I still got time enough for stories.”  
  
“Well, to make a long story short, I met some very bad people in Atlanta,” Sam explained.  
  
“And they hurt you?” Sam got the distinct feeling those people would have the fear of God put in them if they ever met this woman, based on the tone of her voice as she asked the question.  
  
Sam’s heart beat a little more quickly in his chest. “Yeah, they did.” In ways DeeDee might not have survived.  
  
“Mhm. And what ever happened to that little friend of yours that was supposed to set you up with a job down there?” Sam deduced from her tone that she didn’t think too highly of this “friend”, whoever they had been.  
  
Sam had no idea what she was referring to and decided to answer with honesty. “I don’t know.” He wasn’t meant to be here answering these questions. He had done what he was supposed to do for DeeDee, and now she was supposed to be here answering her mother’s many questions. This wasn’t right at all.  
  
The old woman sighed. “I been so worried about you on your own in that place, hangin’ around all the wrong sort of folk. I been prayin’ for you every night.”  
  
Suddenly, the air in the house felt suffocating. Sam got up. “Sorry. I just, uh, I need to get some fresh air.”  
  
Great. First he was panicking because he was leaping out, and _now_ he was panicking because he _wasn’t_. Maybe this leap really had broken him.

  


He watched the sun as it continued to set. Al appeared beside him out of nowhere, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “Al! How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?!”  
  
“Sorry, Sam, it’s not my fault you’re so jumpy,” Al retorted.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Sam asked.  
  
“I could ask you the same thing,” Al replied, “Ziggy says you were supposed to leap about a minute ago, and yet, here you are.”  
  
“I didn’t know I had that option,” Sam said.  
  
“You don’t,” Al said, “Not according to Ziggy at least. The ol’ bucket of bolts is losing her shit over it.”  
  
“I think there’s something I still need to work through and then I’ll be able to leap out of here,” Sam explained as a realization began to dawn on him, “I—when I was supposed to leap—I sort of panicked. I was so afraid I’d end up in another situation like the one I was leaped into on this leap, and it—my fear—must have kept me from leaping somehow.” He paused, still thinking. “This has nothing to do with Ziggy or the Project. This has to do with me...and Him.” Sam pointed upward.  
  
“Him?” Al, too, pointed upward, “The Big Guy?”  
  
Sam nodded. “During this leap I’ve struggled with questions of why God put me in that room when he did…Or why he puts me into half the situations I get leaped right into the middle of... And-And I may never know. And that’ll just have to be good enough, I guess.”  
  
“Okay, so,” Al said, “Why haven’t you leaped then?”  
  
“It’s not just that,” Sam continued, “It wasn’t just those questions holding me back; it was also my fears. I was—am—afraid, in a way I have never been before. During all my other leaps, no matter how bad things got, no matter how bad they began or seemed like they might end, I always had faith that God put me there for a reason and that He would protect me. Now… I need to believe that again.”  
  
Sam watched as the sun sank almost entirely below the horizon. Could he believe the way he had before? He wanted to. He needed to.  
  
“Well,” Al said, at last, breaking the silence that had formed, “He may have put you into this whole mess of a leap, but, uh, you’re still here. He let you live through it. That’s something, isn’t it?”  
  
It was. There were several times Sam might have died during this leap, even one time where Sam might have killed. God saw him through it all. Sam was still here, and he had done what he needed to do to help DeeDee. He had done what God wanted him to do, and God had seen to it that he had been able to. And now, it was time to move on, onto whatever God wanted him to do next.  
  
And even though, he was still afraid, Sam found the faith, the hope, and the strength that he needed to move on. Finally, he answered Al, “Yeah, yeah, it is.” He looked up at the dark, twilight sky, and this time he didn’t fight the feeling of leaping out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fic published in this fandom, and it has to be the heaviest dang thing. >_<   
> Uh, thanks for reading, and hopefully this isn't totally terrible. I promise I have much less intense stuff coming in the future!


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